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JOHN.
I would be a sailor and plough the wide ocean,
And was soon sick and sad with the billows' commotion,
So the Captain he sent me aloft on the mast,
And curs'd me, and bid me cry there—and hold fast!
I would be a sailor and plough the wide ocean,
And was soon sick and sad with the billows' commotion,
So the Captain he sent me aloft on the mast,
And curs'd me, and bid me cry there—and hold fast!
SAMUEL.
After Marching all day, faint and hungry and sore,
I have lain down at night on the swamps of the moor,
Unshelter'd and forc'd by fatigue to remain,
All chill'd by the wind and benumb'd by the rain.
After Marching all day, faint and hungry and sore,
I have lain down at night on the swamps of the moor,
Unshelter'd and forc'd by fatigue to remain,
All chill'd by the wind and benumb'd by the rain.
JOHN.
I have rode out the storm when the billows beat high
And the red gleaming lightnings flash'd thro' the dark sky;
When the tempest of night the black sea overcast,
Wet and weary I labour'd, yet sung to the blast.
I have rode out the storm when the billows beat high
And the red gleaming lightnings flash'd thro' the dark sky;
When the tempest of night the black sea overcast,
Wet and weary I labour'd, yet sung to the blast.
SAMUEL.
I have march'd, trumpets sounding—drums beating—flags flying,
Where the music of war drown'd the shrieks of the dying,
When the shots whizz'd around me all dangers defied,
I have march'd, trumpets sounding—drums beating—flags flying,
Where the music of war drown'd the shrieks of the dying,
When the shots whizz'd around me all dangers defied,
